


Legacy

by dragonwings948



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Book: Engines of War, Episode: The Day of the Doctor, Introspection, TARDIS - Freeform, Time War, spoilers for Engines of War, tribute to John Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwings948/pseuds/dragonwings948
Summary: A tribute to John Hurt. Introspection about the Time War and the legacy the Doctor will leave behind after he activates The Moment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as I heard about John Hurt, this fic basically just exploded out of me. I'd never written anything for the War Doctor, but I found that I could really get into his head, especially after reading Engines of War (there are spoilers for that book, if you didn't see the tag). 
> 
> This is for you, John Hurt. You will be missed.

 

            He knew what he had to do.

            The TARDIS had been fighting him the whole way here, refusing to land and forcing the Doctor to manually land (well, more like _crash)_ the time and space machine. Even now, the TARDIS kept her doors obstinately shut after the Doctor flipped the correct switch.

            “Don’t make me crank them open,” the Doctor muttered, though he knew full well he had no idea where the crank was. He waited a minute, but the TARDIS didn’t respond.

“I’m not in the mood for this,” he growled, a harsh edge creeping into his voice. He thought about pounding his fist on the console to prove his point.

            But his gaze turned to the sack on the ground and he sighed, his fingers uncurling from fists and relaxing by his sides. The Doctor placed a hand on the edge of the console and patted the nearest control. “You know I have to do this; you’ve seen it all too. There has to be an end to this madness.”

            Even as he said the words, the Doctor’s mind filled with images of wailing children, cowering soldiers, Cinder’s cold, lifeless body in his arms…

            “No more,” he whispered, fingers gripping the console.

            With a mechanical whir, the TARDIS doors finally opened outwards. The Doctor reached down and grabbed the sack, hefting it over his shoulder with a grunt. Whatever this thing was, it seemed to be made out of a ton of bricks.

            The Doctor walked toward the expanse of dusty orange terrain outside, but paused on the threshold of the TARDIS. This was the last time he would ever walk out these doors.

            He spun on his heel and faced the console room. What could he say? She was part of him. She had known him at his very best, and now, at his very worst.

            “It’s always you in the end, after everyone else has gone.” He reached out and caressed one of the doors, remembering all the incredible adventures that had waited outside his beloved ship. “Thank you, old girl.”

            The Doctor glanced one more time over the walls covered in roundels, the console full of blinking dials and buttons, and knew that he could so easily take a few steps and start up the TARDIS engines. He could run away. He could hide. He could go far away from this war and never come back, letting it play out as it would.

            The sack on his shoulder weighed him down like the choice he knew he had to make. It had to be done. Someone had to end this.

            _No more._

He turned and stepped out of the TARDIS, hearing the doors shut behind him.

            The Doctor trudged across the desert, trying to keep his mind clear but unable to stop thinking about The War, the endless struggle he had tried so hard to solve peacefully. The War that seemed would never end until the universe was consumed.

            He had always thought, _“Every war has to end.”_ But his hopes had been shattered with one fell blow, the last straw: Cinder’s death. The time lords had exhausted all the chances the Doctor had given them. By torturing and killing his companion, they had proved themselves no better than Daleks, slaughtering the innocent to get what they wanted.

            But no more.

            The sack on the Doctor’s shoulder seemed to grow heavier as every step raised up a cloud of dust and brought a memory to his mind. He remembered everything: every face, every decision, every enemy. Every fear. Every death.

            And this, his very last meeting with death, would be the very worst: drenched in guilt, the memory of the Doctor nothing but a blood-soaked legacy.

            He told himself he was justified. All those companions he remembered, all the people who had stood faithfully by his side… Surely they would understand.

            But then he thought of Susan; her innocence, her tears, her embraces, her cries of “Grandfather!”

            Susan had always believed in him, no matter what. And yet he had no doubt that she would do anything to stop him now.

            And she would be right.

The Doctor hung his head, shifting the sack to his other shoulder. No, there was no justifying this, but there was no way to justify standing idly by and watching as the universe got torn apart either. It was a decision that was impossible to get right.

            _Time lords of Gallifrey, Daleks of Skaro, I serve notice on you all. Too long I have stayed my hand. No more._

_Today you leave me no choice. Today this war will end. No more._

_No more…_

If the TARDIS had obeyed him, which he had no doubt she had, his message would be blaring all over Gallifrey right now, from the War Room, to the battlefields on Gallifrey, to the ships engaged in combat.

            None of them would believe him. Of course they wouldn’t. But he had to give them a chance.

            A shape became clear in the distance: an old, brown barn standing resolute amidst the sea of orange. The Doctor paused, pulling on the sack again to shift the weight, and then started forward.           

            Every step drew him nearer to his legacy. Not as the Doctor, but as the Destroyer, the Slaughterer, the Heartless Warrior.

            After all he had done, after all he had saved, _this_ was to be how the universe remembered him.

            “No more,” he told himself, his mantra to keep his feet going when he thought he couldn’t possibly go one step further This was for the universe. In the name of saving innocent lives. For Cinder.

            Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of enough reasons to commit genocide against two races, one of them his own people. And yet he had to. He knew what he had to do.

            But then The Moment came.

            And everything changed.                


End file.
